


Her Own Part of Peace

by Smallerthanlife



Series: The Hand that Guides a Blind World [1]
Category: Divinity: Original Sin 2
Genre: F/M, Mind Control, Sexual Slavery, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 13:08:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19724290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smallerthanlife/pseuds/Smallerthanlife
Summary: “I don’t begrudge you your freedom, Sebille. Your escape relieved me of having to witness your death by your own hand: the inevitable last command.”Sebille does not escape. The Shadow Prince reflects during the last moments with his treasured slave.





	Her Own Part of Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [她独属的安宁](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19747576) by [metavania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/metavania/pseuds/metavania)



The Shadow Prince drank his tea as he read through his reports. As he did so, his scaled tail tapped against the dark stained wood of the chair. His agenda for the day was, for once, surprisingly sparse. On an average day, there would be an overwhelming amount of meetings, research, and travel all vying for his time and attention. It was not an easy task to be the man behind the destinies of millions. The fate-weaver. Between all of his endeavors, he had hardly a moment to himself, and an entire day on a single task was an untold luxury. If only circumstances were such that he would actually be able to enjoy the luxury that it was. He leaned back against the solid chair, and brought the cup again to his mouth. Idly, his claw traced the words on his schedule. The words were written in a detailed code, of course. With the high-stakes nature of everything that he did, writing it normally would be foolish. He had committed this particular bit of code to memory, so that no cipher was necessary.

Kill the Prime Scion.

There would be celebrations enough, certainly, when it was done. After all, this accomplishment was the result of years upon years of work. Tens of thousands of man hours between his networks of spies had been poured into the effort. The girl had suffered for it. He had certainly suffered for it. And now all of the other Scions were dead. After the day’s events and the death of the final Scion the Mother Tree would finally be thwarted. Her roots would never reach across every land or have the chance to dominate the lives that lived within them. It would all end that day, with the fate of the elf girl locked in his estate.

He took the last, slow sip of tea, savoring the vegetal flavors. A moment passed as he savored it before he set the cup down. It was time. He got to his feet, pushing the chair out of the way as he stood. The claws of his feet made a soft clink, clink against the marble floor as he headed to the slave’s room. He ran a thumb over the key in his pocket. It was the only copy of the key, of course. At all times, he kept it on his person. She was, after all, his most prized possession. The meaning and the purpose behind years of striving. Even if she would never understand it, all of this was for her more than anyone. If not for the forced obedience he had wound around her mind and soul, he was sure she would go to her grave hating him. But such was the price of being the silent hand that moved history.

As he approached the hallways that housed her, he sparked a glowing light at his fingertips with a flourish of Source power. He kept her room completely dark at all times. Even the light from the cracked door as he entered would be too much to allow. It was part of his method of accomplishing complete and utter dominance over her. And it worked. He hardly needed to use the compulsion of her slave scar, anymore. After so much time under his thumb, he only typically bothered to reinforce his orders with the song and the scar when it was the life of the Scions at stake. She still resisted him on that every time. When he reached her door, he snuffed out the light and reached for the key in his pocket. Unlocking her door in the utter dark was a smooth, practiced move without a hint of fumbling.

Inside the room, he heard shuffling from the bed as the girl turned over, likely just waking up. The room was tiny, just enough room for her bed and a locked, elf-sized box at the side—a cage. He snapped once with his thumb and middle finger, a definitive, sharp sound. From the rustle of the bedsheets and the sound of bare feet hitting the floor, he could tell that she rose immediately, standing at attention. For a moment, he just stood there, enjoying the tension that lay between them in the dark. He could feel her fury and her fear, and it was a shame that she felt so. Though the scar song had undoubtedly changed her over the years of her captivity, he had not compelled her with it since their last meeting, when she had killed the second-to-last Scion. All of the feelings and emotions undoubtedly running through her mind where genuinely hers. What was it that she thought? He wondered. Of course, he didn’t have to wonder. With the song, he could know. With the song, she would be able to hold nothing back. He reached out, knowing instinctively where to find her face. He caressed it, slowly relishing in the softness and the unnatural, mammalian warmth of her skin. Most of all, he gloried in the slightly raised swirl of the scar on her cheek. He hummed her song wordlessly as he pulled her towards him.

“Sebille,” he said, barely above a whisper, as she stumbled into his arms. “What thoughts filled your mind as I entered the room?”

“I feared your…your touch, Master,” she said. Now under the control of the song, she seemed sad to have to admit it to him.

“You know that you cannot avoid my touch, Sebille,” he said, and moved his hand from her cheek down to the slight but delicious curve of her already naked breast.

“Of course, Master. I’m sorry,” she said, and there was genuine contrition in her voice. What a marvel the slave scar was.

“Did you hate me, Sebille?” He asked her, with a note of curiosity instead of malice. As he did so, he took one of her soft hand in his and moved it over the hardening bulge of his cock.

“I did,” she answered, sorrowfully, and made no motion to resist his physical manipulations.

“Why did you feel hatred for me?” He asked, pressing harder against her hand with just a slight movement of his hips.

“I didn’t want to kill any more,” she admitted. “I wanted to see the sun.” She melted further into his arms.

With a clawed finger underneath her chin, he tilted her face upwards, and kissed her. Despite everything she had just confessed to him, the scar wove its magic. She responded to his kisses with tempered, tentative hunger. Drunk on his power, he wove his fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck, and tightened them into a fist, dragging her head backwards. She gasped against his lips, and the Shadow Price strained to memorize everything about the moment. In the days that were to follow, he would need the sweetness of such a memory to steady him. Holding his fist in her hair, he moved his kisses down to her neck and pushed her to the bed.

There were those among his people that found it deviant and sordid for a lizard to lust after softer flesh. But they didn’t know delightfully she arched under him as he kissed down to her breasts. They hadn’t feel the exotic lankiness of her fragile limbs as she wrapped around him. Besides, the elf girl was just a slave, despite her past status among her own people. It was his right to do with her as he saw fit.

He planted ravenous kisses over her breasts for long moments. He pinched and squeezed at her abdomen as he did so, running his palms over her belly. What would it have been like should the Mother Tree have been allowed to complete her plan? Sebille was the Prime Scion, the one chosen from birth to replace her. Would this warm flesh really have turned to bark? Would her slender legs really have lengthened and twisted into roots, anchoring her forever to the ground? He shuddered at the thought. At least, after everything the girl had to endure, this was one horror he managed to spare her.

When he’d had her fill of her breasts, he lay back on the bed and pulled her on top of him. She didn’t need any direction. Neither the song nor a snap of his fingers was required before she moved down on the bed, kneeling over him as she unlaced his trousers. The first movement of her lips over his cock was a burst of sensation. He gasped, and the sound was almost pained. By the goddess Zorl-Stissa, he was going to miss this slave.

“Good girl,” he said in a low, husky whisper as he returned his hands to the long hair at the nape of her neck. A soft whimper was her only response. He guided her movements with tugs of her hair.

By the time he stopped her, he could tell the compulsion of the song was beginning to wear off. She was beginning to gag, and was exploring him less eagerly with her tongue. He moved her off of him, and then crawled back on top of her. As he got into position over her, a finger moved down to slide along her slit. She wasn’t especially wet. It would be beyond easy for him to sing to her again, and force pleasure into her body with nothing but his words. However, for that last joining of their bodies, he wanted it to be really her that writhed beneath him. He rubbed her clit with the pad of his finger, enjoying the twitch of her limbs. The sound he tore out of her as he continued was more agony than rapture. He wondered how long it would take to make her beg him to stop. Before he did stop, he thought he felt her come as she shuddered, but he couldn’t be sure. If not compelled, she would do anything possible to hide her pleasure from him.

He teased her, rubbing the head of his cock along her opening, over her clit. Beneath him, she thrummed with tension. Her jaw was clenched as were her fists at her side. He chuckled at the naiveté of her reaction as he finally pushed forward hard, moving into her. Hadn’t she felt him like this, hundreds of times, while under any and every level of influence of the slave scar? In their time together he’d taken her completely aware, he’d taken her high and delirious from the magic of the slave scar, and every state in between. Inside she felt so hot that she seemed to be burning. The strange sensation only heightened the pleasure. As he shoved into her, again and again, he grabbed at her waist, her breasts, and her hips. Anything he could reach. Under him, her silence was stony and her body was stiff, but she could do nothing to ruin the passion of the moment for him. This elf, the very woman he was fucking, was the brutal instrument that he had used to save the world! And in doing so, he had transformed her destiny. Instead of having the subjugation of millions on her conscience upon death, she would have the honor of saving them. He had redeemed her on almost every level possible. As he thought about it, he sped up his desperate thrusts.

It was a long time before he spilled into her with a shudder. As he rolled off of her, he noticed that she was even more tightly wound than before. Her shoulders shook in what he was now realizing were ugly, desperate sobs. A feeling of condescending pity washed over him. Not so much because she was crying, or that he had fucked her without the lull of the slave song, but because of the whole of the story that made up the tragedy of her life. And that saddest part was that she would never come to recognize all the multitude of ways he had saved her. He held her to his chest through her sobs, although she hadn’t stopped close to an hour later when he pinned her down and began again.

After the hours he spent in her bed, enjoying the feel of her skin, he knew that he could put his duties off no longer. He got out of the bed, lacing up his pants and pulling back on his shirt that had been shed somewhere along the way. He grabbed the large, dagger-like needle that sat on top of the box at the other side of the room. Gently, he put it in her hand and closed her fingers around it. Then, he moved to unlock the cage and open it.

“Get in the box, Sebille,” he told her as he released her hands. He could feel her trepidation despite the dark. Whenever he had discovered the location of the Scion in the past, it had been a rushed affair. He had to get Sebille to them to perform the kill before they moved on, beyond the reach of his spies. The Shadow Prince had never ordered Sebille into the box after fucking her, especially not for hours like this. But she didn’t ask questions, and stood to move towards it, needle in hand. Once she had crawled inside, he locked it back up again, and then left the room. In the hallway he summoned the magical light again, blinking as his eyes adjusted to it after the hours in the dark. He ordered his other slaves to move Sebille’s cage to a carriage, and then set about readying himself for the journey. 

It was barely midday when they left. The entire trip was self-indulgent. Excessive. If he had been wise, he would have taken care of business back at his estate, instead of wasting time. But he had always had an eye for elegance and symmetry in events, for the beauty he could find there. It was only fitting that Sebille’s final murder would take place under a canopy of trees, as had all of the others. They rode until dusk, and into the night. The Shadow Prince didn’t bother looking out the window, although he did sleep for what must have been a couple of scant hours when the journey made him especially weary. He hoped that Sebillle had been granted a few last, sweet hours of sleep where she was locked in the cage. About two hours before dawn, they arrived. He stepped out onto the road and stretched his stiff and tired limbs. The road ran through a lush woods, illuminated only by the torchlight of his slaves and the stars above them.

“Take the cage away from the road,” he ordered to the slaves. “At least 300 paces. Try to find a nice place. A small meadow, if you can.” They frowned in confusion, but they obeyed him. The Shadow Price followed them leisurely, looking at the stars as he went. He knew that he would not weep for the girl, but still the inevitable end pained him. Through the slave scar’s power, he had come to know Sebille as completely and totally as he knew himself. Tonight, a part of him would die. It would be a worthy cause. A martyr’s death, almost. But still…

When he reached the place they had set the cage, the Shadow Prince dismissed the other slaves, stroking the key in his pocket. Once they had gone, he unlocked the box. Sebille crawled out, looking around curiously, obviously awaiting instructions. Obviously anticipating the kill. But instead she squinted and gawked at the sky, where the full moon shone brilliantly. She tried to stare, even though she could barely even open her eyes. After all this time, her eyes were fully acclimated to the dark.

“Shhh,” he said, sitting down upon the soft, cool meadow grass. “Don’t try to take everything in at once. Come sit beside me.” She curled up with her head upon his lap, as he played affectionately with her hair. He admired her beauty in the dim light, beauty that he so rarely saw at all. It was a long time, over an hour, before she could open her eyes well enough to take in her surroundings. He had researched all of the forests nearby within a day’s journey, and this on most resembled the ecology of the one she had grown up in. Or so his spies said. The effort clearly accomplished the intended affect. She looked around, tears gleaming in her wide eyes. Not for the first time, his heart ached for her. He wondered, briefly, if he could just let her go, let her run off into the forest. Surely with all of the other Scions dead, the Mother Tree would be unable to go forward with the plan. The image in his mind of her laughing and enjoying life was intoxicating. But he knew it was impossible. Sebille was too dangerous. Even years before he had met her, as a young girl with a penchant for wandering, she already had the corruption of the Mother Tree inside of her. As much as it would bring him joy to spare her, Sebille had to die. And, as he had told himself hundreds of times, Sebille herself would thank him if she were capable of fully understanding. Instead of a villain, she would die a tragic hero. All thanks to him.

He waited until the sun rose, pink and yellow on the horizon. Sebille watched in rapt attention as for the first time in her years of captivity she saw the light of day. He let her watch for long minutes, soaking in her joy and beauty. Then, he snapped his fingers. Sebille sat up and looked at him, waiting for instructions. He sung the song, slow and sad, until she was firmly under his control.

“Sebille,” he said, slowly and deliberately. “Drive your needle into your heart.” The command was so powerful that she didn’t even hesitate before turning the needle on herself. Before he could even blink, the weapon was embedded hilt deep into her chest. She was shaking now, trembling as blood poured from her.

“Now take it out,” he said, watching breathlessly as she struggled. He had ordered her, but her limbs simply didn’t have the strength to comply. With steady hands, he helped her remove it, and blood poured out even faster, pooling around her. “Relax now, Sebille,” he commanded, and she collapsed back into his lap. The Shadow Prince held her through her convulsions, stroking her as the flow of blood from her body slowed and her eyes closed. He held her until her last, shuddering breath.

It was easy for him to carry her limp body back to the carriage. Easier still for him to command his slaves to begin the journey home. As her corpse bounced and jostled beside him from the bumps on the road, the Shadow Prince smiled sadly, grateful that there was no hint of tears in his eyes. It was done. The Mother Tree was thwarted. For the first time in months, as he leaned his head back against the seat, he was able to slip soundly and quickly into sleep.


End file.
